Daughter of the Moon
by Writer Awakened
Summary: FE8. Gilliam/Syrene. He didn't speak often. She didn't need him to.


Radiant Daughter of the Moon

-

_Lady of the moon, save thy hand_

_To take in mine whence I land_

-Last lines of an old Frelian sailor's ballad

-

Gilliam stood at an open window, staring out at the infinite night. From the base of the castle's walls to the mountains yon stretched blankets of black and one fluid quilt of green. Somewhere out there in the mystic a source of some dreamlike passion made the night something else entirely. Somewhere up there the sky above hung the moon- _their_ moon- suspended in the sky as if by magic, unquestionable in its authority, claiming the night as its own. It had no qualms about its place there, and it had no misgivings taking its place alongside the night sky. The older knights, saturated and drenched in life, joked that the moon was a woman, always dependent on the sky's sturdiness. In some places, Gilliam heard, the moon was called the mother of radiance, and every woman on earth her daughter. Like the grindstone or the hearth, the thought was comforting.

_Lady of the moon, call to me_

Lady of the moon, romance me

Standing at the window tonight was a windy endeavor, the night breezes taking flight here and there, cold fluttering from the base of the spires and jutting to the rooftops. Off in the distance, a single bell rang. The winds whistled and made a keen, sharp sound of their own making like a splitting of the rafters in the eve. The night was so wild and the air so brittle and so thoroughly frostbitten that it was far too easy to stand and freeze in the window's shadow.

Gilliam shuddered. Returning to his bed, he doused the lights and tried to sleep. Ever as he turned over, the air remained cold and uninviting, and without the light, the room was subject to bristling pinpricks in the dark. Much as he tried, the quilts and blankets he piled over himself- waves of black and green- were little help to cease his quivering.

Tonight was a cold endeavor.

_Lady of the moon, speak to me,_ the song pled. Gilliam turned over. Was he becoming forgetful? He was a knight's knight, and he had sailed the seas once or thrice. But in the name of the Saint, for the lifeblood of him, he couldn't remember the blasted song! He hummed a bit of the melody, tried to recall the words.

_Lady of the moon, dance with me_

_Waltz arm in arm across the sea_

_Lady of the moon, warm and kind_

_For thy love I'll give my mind_

Gilliam laughed. That was the last line he remembered. He rolled over onto his side.

Why was it so difficult? For all he tried to wrestle with whomever he was, he failed to understand what stayed his mouth. For all that was holy, why could he not admit? Why was talking to a woman- _this_ woman- so difficult? And for all he had done, in the name of the Saint, it was a _question_! Just one simple question, or perhaps a solid statement. Surely he wasn't merely afraid of rejection, and as a seasoned knight, he was no longer paralyzed by his timidity nor by his ideals. He already knew the answer to his question. The look in her eyes was enough to tell him so, and he was no fool.

Gilliam felt so strongly. She was past being a foolish flame or a youthful passion to him. She was far past being a little darling needing protection. The older knight laughed lances through younger men and their fancies. No, she was someone to serve his liege with, someone to live with, someone to raise a family with, someone to grow old with.

She was an equal. She was the waves rippling beneath the bottom of his boat, the fire burning in the bellows of his stomach, and the goddess to whom he prayed. She was someone to respect.

He knew he felt this way. But never had he been able to properly rationalize _why_ he felt this way. There wasn't any real answer, he knew: he had heard all the troubadour's ballads about love's mysteries and how the best things were never to be known to man. He still wanted an answer- some answer. Any answer.

_Lady of the moon, naught but you-_

_Nay, us alone shall make anew_

Gilliam laughed again. That was an earlier bit in the song, the- the- what was it? A ballad, a shanty, a dirge? A- a- nocturne? But the song- no, that line- it was unrealistic. 'Naught but you- nay, us?' Surely it was a jest. No love could purport to disrupt life to accommodate itself. She would not sacrifice her life, her duty for him and he would not either. As much as sometimes it seemed as though the world existed for them and them alone, and there they were together, suspended in time, alone together, romancing. Neither of them would allow a love to eclipse a second of their duties to their kingdom.

An ode! The song was an ode!

Gilliam sighed and shut his eyes, rolled onto his back and looked up into stone. What a wonderful thought and yet how utterly depressing. Each time he shut his eyes he saw her face, tears rolling down her cheeks, trying to tell him silently the things he should never do.

Why?

He couldn't stand such thinking things. He always saw her crying in his mind, always, and he always felt like his chest was about to cave in whenever he did. It hurt. Sometimes it seemed anything was justified, as long as it made her smile appear again. But there wasn't time for such a thing as 'alone and in love' anymore. Those days were dead.

Either way, life moved on. The dawn would pass to the dusk, and the dark would pass to light. He would live, she would live; he would die, she would die. And all independent of them, and their actions, and even the guises of the moon- none could stop Time. As much as he waited, the moment would come or it would pass him by without fail. But the pain of uncertainty would always linger.

Gilliam bolted upright. It wasn't a disease, or an errant blade that would end him. The pain of not knowing would kill him. It would suffocate him, garrote him, strangle him as surely as a noose would. And a death in battle was one swift stroke in the light- the pain of not knowing was a poisoned barb to the back in the grips of the night.

_Lady of the moon, dance with me-_

Gilliam slipped out of bed, dressed himself in something appropriate, fumbling around the top of his dresser for something and sliding that something into his pocket. Outside there was a mighty gust of wind from the window and some rapid _whooshes _sweeping through the room. He pressed his hands against the door to his chamber and slipped out. Gilliam walked through the halls hurriedly, determinedly, without giving second thoughts to his movements. The balcony on the highest level of the castle. He felt the strangest feeling; it was as if he knew quite well he was plunging himself into darkness, but he couldn't stop his feet from tearing open the rift. The other strange feeling was that he knew, somehow, that she was up there.

He spiraled up the staircase in the empty torchlight, his feet _pound_-_pounding_ into the stone steps.

Had he forgotten it? No, he hadn't. It was in his pocket. He breathed a sigh of relief as he trundled upward.

The upper level of the castle was bare but open, the halls garbed in only a slip of shadows, with slits in the sides of the walls to let moonlight in, and wind danced slowly through. Another gush of wind surged, and Gilliam shivered again.

_Waltz arm in arm across the sea_-

The sounds were coming from the balcony yon. Gilliam strode across the halls and couldn't recall being quite as impatient since he had been a child. Ever since the Sage King Hayden's coronation he had stayed his tongue. Now he could find no words to say even if he wished it. Even his hands seemed to disobey him, as they wouldn't clench around the damned thing. It was little, inexpensive, worthless- but it was all he could find, all he could grasp, it wasn't nearly enough but he was sure she wouldn't mind. The jeweler had said it would be more than appropriate.

Ahead, on the large balcony overseeing the verdant hills beyond. Gilliam walked forward, and saw quite clearly silhouetted in the moonlight, a pegasus neighing and preening its feathers. Beside it, there stood a silhouette of a lady with long dark-shadow hair and the full figure of a knight champion. The woman stroked the mane of her mount, then turned her head towards the hall.

He walked forth into the night to see her clearly. She was as beautiful as she always was, and she expected him as she always did. He pulled something out of his pocket in the sheen of the moonlight, held it out in the palm of his hand, and waited for her to take it in hers. It glistened and sparkled brightly under its fellow stars' light. Syrene smiled radiantly.

Gilliam stepped out to the railing of the balcony and looked out into the moonlight, into the melting shadows. She slid beside him and put an arm around his shoulder, and he put one around hers. Maybe there didn't need to be any questions asked, or any answers given. No one ever questioned the moon, after all.

_Lady of the moon, hold my hand_

_Swim with me amongst the sand_

He caressed her hair softly and pulled her close, letting the song play itself out.


End file.
